


Letters of Love... Or Hate... Or Whatever.

by flordecai



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Florida and the origins of his torture skills, M/M, Mention of torture, Mentions other agents, So does York, Torture, Wash gets tormented by Florida, Wyoming pre-gamma, feels are the feels, i mean so does everybody, mild torture depiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-11-14 05:05:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11201055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flordecai/pseuds/flordecai
Summary: Agent Florida joins Project Freelancer, meeting Agent Wyoming and the other members of his team for the first time. Yet this isn't his first time on the Mother of Invention, far from it in fact. Full of flashbacks and memories of torture, how well will Florida tolerate being a Freelancer on the very ship the Director held him on in order to 'teach' him methods of information extraction?





	1. Church Bells

Butch Flowers. That was his name, he remembered his name. That was good, that meant he remembered his past, remembered something other than-

“Now, remember this, Mr. Flowers, you need to remember exactly what I am about to…” The man with greying hair, surgical gloves and a white lab coat smirked as he pulled on a medical mask. “Teach you. You are my pupil. I will teach you all I know, understand?” He begins rummaging through some belongings, metal if Butch could recognize the sound right. But with his right eardrum thumping painfully, the electric shock rods that had been pressed against his ear had left blisters that stung violently and felt as if his nerves were exposed, leaving him to endure every sort of sensation to the skin. “I have plans for you, I hope you know that. Great plans, you are my worm among people who will hate you. They know you are joining them soon, but not for a few months.”

“Why the fuck are you-”

**SMACK.**

A gloved hand has reached over and silenced Butch’s speech in a single, quick blow to the cheek, the stinging sending shivers down his spine, causing his naked body to tremble.

“Tsk, I ask the questions, Butch, you provide answers. Understood?” He is smiling under the mask, Butch knows he is otherwise the fabric wouldn’t be wrinkling in odd places like it is. “Stay calm, this will all be over before you know it.” His other hand holds up some sleek and sharp metal plates with spikes, not too different from soles of shoes just… Without the shoe part. Imagine the bottom of golf shoes but with sharper metal spikes and no actual shoe, just a flat piece of metal with chords to a remote control.

“Oh god no, don’t do that again-”

**SMACK.**

This time it hurts more because his hand has come down over the mouth, pressing violently as he holds the device up to Butch’s face, pressing the button on the device, causing it to begin humming as it electrifies itself violently, the metal mere inches from his face. “This will be placed on your feet until you give me every piece of information or perform desired tasks. Understood? It has a shock ability, but won’t shock you unless you disobey.” The captive couldn’t move away if he wanted to, not that he didn’t try to.The metal and leather straps holding him to the table in the awkward position on his side prevented any movement that the torturer did not desire. Even if he could move, even if he were free, it would only be with limitations and a list of required actions. Freedom wasn’t actually freedom here, not even close. Freedom, as this man has explained, is earned and controlled to prevent self destruction.

Butch’s father had believed freedom was not something one had to earn, rather it was upon every being to prevent him or herself from taking another person’s freedom. He had been a shaman, a man of great respect among his tribe and one everyone came to for advice or support. When his son came to him as what popular media depicted as being “gender queer”, the tribe and his father accepted it with open arms, as was their tradition. When he came home with a boyfriend rather than a girlfriend, his father asked if the young man could stay for the summer festivals that would be occurring soon after that. Festivals were always colorful, beautiful even in the heat of summer, full of incense burning alongside fires that burned until late hours of the night, possibly even for the entire week of activities if done right. His father being a major influence and source of wisdom in the tribe meant that he was gone most of the week, leaving the young seventeen year old alone with his boyfriend. He could remember the smell of burning wood, white sage, some other type of incense, the heavy smell of Axe body spray that his boyfriend used at the time and the light scent of sunscreen on possibly every person there. He could remember the smells as if it had been yesterday, but he refused to focus on it any further, knowing all too well that if he continued dwelling on past memories he would lose himself, he would become too easily broken.

He had to forget. He had to, other wise he wouldn’t be able to function whenever this ended. That didn’t stop his brain, though, from finding some sort of escape. The sensation of hold someone’s warm, sweaty hand while running through grass towards the end of summer, laughing, smiling-  
_Stop, no, not now._

Even as the Director began cutting the soles of his feet, Butch kept his mouth shut, flinching only slightly when the metal spikes were slid slowly into the small cuts the older man had made in the new agent’s feet. It was agonizing to lay there, feeling heavy metal attached to his feet abnormally and painfully weighing them down. If there hadn’t been a clock on the wall across from him, Butch would not have known it had been only twenty minutes, he’d have assumed it had been hours.

“Alright, let’s begin!” The Director laughed, tapping one of the buttons and Butch spazzed involuntarily, and then… Nothing, just darkness.

 

* * *

 

When Agent Florida was introduced to his fellow agents, he was silent, as they all were at that time. His hair had grown since he had been under the Director’s “teachings” or that was what the older man had told him. His silence was required on the hours upon hours of relentless torture that the agent had been subjected to, but it had wielded the results the old man desired- Florida was the only agent highly skilled and trained in torture techniques as well as medical information seemingly impossible to figure out so rapidly as a span of half a year, yet the agent was well versed in it. The Director called him his favorite since day one, establishing his favoritism by small gestures and the request that the agent come to his office at the end of the day. Not taking the request seriously was dangerous, Florida knew that, so he simply nodded and told the older man he would be there, a twisted smile falling on his lips.

_I hate myself._

His hair had been his pride and joy when he had been younger, the length of it impressing even his father- who by the time Florida turned seventeen had been bald due to age and was not easily impressed anymore. When he joined the military, his father had been dead for four months, leaving him without any money or a place to live. So Florida went into the military, getting accepted into a special program years later after he had been through basic training. The details on his enlistment as the Director’s special pupil were vague and thrown out through the torture he had endured.

His hair had been the one thing he had control over, thus becoming his pride and glory even as he stood in the Freelancer showers. He held no concept of decency to cover himself up when entering the showers, instead just waltzing into the stalls in his naked glory. He knew his scars from years of combat and torture were evident, a source of uncomfortable topics of conversation for the agent. Yet no one asked about them, no one even cared to stare at them, leaving the raven haired male with mixed feelings of relief and uneasiness.

These people seemed… Oddly likable. But the Director had stated these people would hate him, would want nothing to do with him, so why was this man with a mustache and a _very_ attractive accent speaking happily to him as they showered? It made no sense to the agent, but he never let it show, that was a lesson he learned early on in his time with the Director- never show your emotions or your thoughts, the results are dangerous.

“Call me Reggie.”

“I-I’m sorry?” Florida blinks, cocking his head to the side. “Thought you were Agent Wyoming?”

“Why go by code names when around your team? Seems awfully secretive.” Another agent- York, the tan man thought- scoffed as xe avoided looking at the two as xe went to the other end of the shower stall.

“Oh… I prefer the name Florida though.” He hummed, tilting his head so the shower head drenched his hair, sighing at the enjoyable heat of the water. “Don’t much care for my real name…”

“They are so fuckin’ weird…” Someone muttered as they walked by, causing the raven haired agent to look after them, smirking widely.

“I’m just pleased as punch to be here guys!” Puns hadn’t been his thing until now, the peppiness and cheery tone hadn’t been a part of him before now either. When had he become so bright? It wasn’t genuine, not by a long shot. His voice was soaked in false positivity, but the other agents believed it, they believed the cheerfulness was real.

His father had told him honesty was the only trait he wanted to instill in him, if he could leave behind one thing it would be a son with honesty as the first thing rolling off his tongue rather than the poisonous lies that so many men told on a daily basis. If only his father could see him now, lying easily as if it had been second nature to him. It was unnatural, disgusting, a disgrace. But this was what he needed to do in order to survive, the old man would understand, right?  
_Pathetic…_

The showers allowed moments of relief, the hot water drawing him from his thoughts, preventing him from sinking into the disparaging thoughts that came with the exhaustion that was a constant now. He knew he couldn’t stay awake forever, but he knew how long was enough to avoid the terrifying nightmares, which meant tonight was a night of reading old mission logs and analyzing them. Sleep was not to come to the agent, not tonight anyways. As the agent got dressed in the locker room, he noticed the other agents had used _towels_ when leaving the showers, but Florida hadn’t cared or bothered to grab one, instead strutting through and pulling his clothes on without a care in the world for who saw his fully naked body.

Which would explain why Wash’s face was a dark shade of red, leading Florida to get a sick, horrible idea of entertainment.

“Liking what you see there, Wash?” He called, despising the sick sensation of joy when the youngest agent went an _even darker shade of red._

“I-I w-w-wasn’t… I…”

“Oh come on, don’t tease the poor kid, Florida.” Came Carolina’s soft chastising, standing in a tank top and her underwear. “Leave him be.”

“Just thought he’d like a taste of what he’s been staring at all evening.” Butch laughed, winking at Wash before pulling on boxers, then a tank, his back to the other agents.

The joy at the younger agent making an uncomfortable noise made him dizzy, a mixture of pure pleasure at disturbing the other and disgust at what he just did. The poor kid was too young, too innocent and probably too naive to realize exactly _what_ he had been brought into, and all Butch could think to do was make this worse.

_Shame on you, you’re a sick fuck._

A deep breath was the only thing he could do to silence that voice, the only form of revolt he dared take part of before continuing with his dressing routine, following the other agents to their assigned rooms. He had to keep it together, he couldn’t afford flashbacks, not now.

 

* * *

 

When Butch came to, his body was freezing cold, but the pain in the soles of his feet ached and burned with infection. Shivering, he pulled his knees close to his chest, blinking when he realized the motion was possible for the first time in weeks. A sharp intake of breath stalled him for a minute as he slowly took in what had happened. Something about learning forms of torture, something about knowing what hurt a person enough to make them confess… 

It hadn’t been long, the session previous had been hours before he had lost consciousness, this one had been more painful, more  _ personal _ . 

The man with graying hair had informed him that the feet were the most sensitive part of any human, when conditioned correctly. If you desensitize the rest of the human body then the only area left to use would be the soles of the feet.

“It’s amazing, actually, your feet. The human body is designed where the soles of the feet are the controlling point of your body heat. If your feet are too cold then your entire body goes cold. Amazing, isn’t it?”

Now the only noise that the man could hear was the slight ticking from the clock at the far end of the room. Before, the metal walls had echoed the noises of flesh being electrically burned and the mild noises of pain.  How long had he been out? How long had he been in this room? Butch had no answers, which terrified him more. 

Not knowing or not having access to answers was the worst part of this ordeal. It prevented any sort of plot to get himself out, it kept him from actually  _ trying _ to escape, which he guessed was the part he was to learn from whatever all this was. He had to learn, he had to find any type of way to survive this ordeal and get as far away from this place as possible.

Even though his ribs and lower back ached from contorting against the metal for so long, he forced himself to sit up, running a hand along his calves, feeling the familiar sensation of hair along his skin. It was a comforting sensation, the feeling of having something still be the same and unchanged, unaltered, even it was something as simple as his leg hair. At the thought, Butch reached back to tug on his long, waist length braid of jet black hair, a relieved sigh leaving his lips as he gently pulled it over his shoulder, stroking the hair slowly, comfortingly.

_ “ _ _ Je ne comprends pas ça …*” _ He whispered, closing his eyes as he sucked in a slow, shaking breath.  _ “Je ne comprends pas ça …” _

His father had been fluent in French before Butch had been born, the language being from his mother’s side of the family. She had taught both of them to speak French, the Cherokee not to her liking but she still spoke it, just not as frequent as French. His father had said French sounded better than Cherokee, that if they spoke it enough and frequently that maybe mother would find them one day, find the family of Cherokee descent who spoke only French. 

If only he had been right.

Now Butch spoke the French out of comfort, but also out of vain hope that if he spoke the language loud enough and strong enough someone would find him, anyone would find him.

Again, if only he had been right.

* * *

“Well, ol’ chap, looks like we’re bunkin’ together!” Reggie beamed, slapping him on the back as they stood by their quarters, leaving Florida was a mild sense of joy at the companionship. 

Agent Wyoming had been one he had been secretly eying most of the day, for some reason he was genuinely interested in outside of his prime directive. His file had to be of some sort of interest, it just  _ had _ to be. So of course Florida grinned at the other man, nodding as they entered their room, deciding he would have the top bunk, the two spent the rest of the evening in pleasant company, enjoying a few laughs together and sharing information of use. 

When the agents went to the mess hall to have their respective dinners, it was as if he and Reggie had been best friends for ages, laughing to themselves as they stood in line for their meals. 

The mess hall was large, the floor shiny and metallic while the walls were some dull, monotonous tone of grey, much like the room Florida had been confined to for half a year after being transferred fr om… Gods, he couldn’t even remember. His life had been consumed by the ‘training’, the only focus he held was learning quickly what was required of him, but now… Now things had slowed, now he was allowed a normal, relaxed life, and he was finding it hard to follow the actual flow of time smoothly and without hiccups or bumps along the way.

“Reggie, why do you prefer being called Reggie?” The raven haired man hummed,sitting on a bench at a table near the door, eyes studying the British man as he sat next to him, twirling his mustache while deep in thought, apparently.

“Hm? Oh, why Reggie? Well, cause Reginald is a long thing to say, ol’ chap.” He hummed, twirling his mustache as he looked up at Florida. “Why do you prefer Florida?”

Ah, he should have expected the reciprocal of the question, never considering these people would  _ care _ enough to get to know him. The question had him blindsided, leaving him staring at his biscuit and tomato soup, blinking slowly as he tried to peel his mind back from the edge of a panic attack.

“Well…” He says slowly, allowing truth to take hold of his mouth for the time, not bothering to come up with a lie at all. “I don’t want to remember when I went by my real name, has bad memories attached to it, ya know?” 

_ Like maybe a flower being carved into my lower back? Or maybe whenever the name ‘Butch’ was spoken, shocks were administered to my forehead? What about the time- _

“Ah, totally understand, ol’ chap.” Reggie nods before beginning to eat his food. “I’ll call you Florida then.” Florida blinked for a minute, nodding as he began relaxing around the other, smiling a more natural smile.

“Thanks, Reggie, thanks.”

 


	2. Make Things Interesting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the Freelancers begin training, Agent Florida has some decisions and choices to make upon the request of the Director while maintaining his distance from the other agents.  
> Now enter the creation and training of the Alpha Team, made up of the top performing agents of Project Freelancer and sent on the missions requiring a sensitive touch and particular skill. Just how will Florida react when said team excels in other skills out side of the Project?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I created a playlist for Florida/Wyoming. No regrets. None.

His first night with his new roommate was… Dull.

Agent Wyoming- or Reggie, as he asked to be called in private- had gone to bed almost immediately after the designated “lights out” time. The British agent seemed a bit jet lagged to his roommate, so upon the suggested rest period that was announced over the intercom, Reggie quickly took advantage of well needed rest.

Butch was exhausted from the many greetings and introductions that had occurred that evening, the true effects of putting barriers between possible teammates coming to light as the agent lay in bed. Yet Florida remained awake, staring at the ceiling as he listened to the even breathing of the other man on the bunk above him, the sheets dangling a bit over the edge of the bed along with the British agent’s foot. The sounds of the ship were sadly not unfamiliar to the agent, only making the urge to sleep slip further and further from his grasp and after nearly an hour of attempting to sleep, the tan agent stood up silently.

Deciding he would be more productive outside of the world of sleep, the agent wandered the halls in silent meditation. The cool metal feeling on his feet was oddly calming, the ability to feel at all a sensation was a feat he was grateful for after numerous experiments-

Shaking his head, Butch made a random left turn, deciding some coffee or tea would be nice at this late hour, padding his way towards the cafeteria through the long and silent halls.

The other agents were all asleep at this hour, snoozing contently in their bunks as he wandered the halls, not sleep walking but not entirely awake either. Constantly in a state of limbo, almost as if he were cursed to forever avoid sleep as if it would infect him and destroy his entire being. Training would begin in a few days, the clock work beginning to turn in the Cherokee man’s brain in preparation for what he knew would be coming. The Director had been clear that he should avoid meeting with him for a while, but once the training began he was to avoid skyrocketing to the top of the team and focus on learning the strengths- and weaknesses- of his fellow agents. To better prepare him for this task, the Director had all of the files he had on all of the freelancers copied and stored in a place only he and Florida had access to, a place where the agent would rather not return to if he could.

In this case, he couldn’t.

* * *

_“Butch, do you understand why I am doing what I am doing?”_

_The words came as a surprise to the man, who currently was only wearing grey sweat pants while practicing with a robot set with particular programs involving training in hand to hand combat. Flowers had grown accustomed to dubbing the robot as A.S.S., or Artificial Strategic Son-of-a-bitch. It got him through his training well enough and allowed him to focus on something else other than his ‘special’ lessons._

_“No, sir.” The soldier murmured, quickly blocking the robot’s closed fist and wrapping his hand around its mid forearm, bringing the limb down on his knee, hearing the simulated bone breaking noise erupted from the machine. Before the Director could continue with his train of thought, Butch quickly and smoothly put the robot into a sleeper hold and ‘snapped’ its neck, dropping the lifeless thing to the floor._

_“Excellent work, as always, Flowers.” The Counselor smiled as he quietly began recording the information he required for his records for the Director. “Well done.”_

_“You should have just finished him from the beginning, Butch, stop playing with your victims.” Snapped the greying old man, adjusting his glasses as he sternly looked at the tan man in front of him. “But never matter, back to my previous conversation.”_

_A silent nod was the only response Butch gave the other, resuming a soldier stance in front of the Director, his arms tightly pressed to his sides as he awaited further instructions._

_“I am training you to help me, Butch.”_ _  
_ _“Sir is it alright to-”_

_“He has earned our trust, Counselor, the man has passed my tests. Butch, I need you to be blindly obedient to me and the Counselor, do you understand?”_

_“Yes, sir.” His hazel eyes studied the two for a brief second, before he saluted them. “What are my orders, sir?”_

_“You will be joining a special project, called Project Freelancer- PFL, if you prefer an acronym.” The director gave a small, informal salute which freed Butch from his rigid and formal one. “Sit down, son. Counselor, debrief him while I ensure the other agents are boarding the shuttle.” He stood, waving Butch to take his seat across from the Counselor. “Good evening to you both.”_

_Once the Director had left and Butch was settled into his seat, rigid and stiff as ever, the Counselor explained further the entirety of the project._ _  
_ _“You will be Agent Florida, behave however you desire but remember this one goal- gather as much information on every agent you interact with and relay that information to me and the Director. Understand that?”_

_The counselor only received that stiff nod and cold, unfeeling eyes that continued calculating what his next moves were, even as he sat there, only in sweat pants._

* * *

“You’re up mighty late.” Came an all too familiar voice, one Butch had wanted to avoid hearing. He had gotten his tea- a nice and strong chai- and gone to the chamber that he had been ‘trained’ in, the secret entrance of which was under a storage closet in the hall where the other agents’ rooms were. “Burning the midnight oil, Florida?”

“Yes, sir.” He snapped into a stiff salute, disliking the strict control he allowed the older man to have over him. The small salute back only deepened the depth of his dislike, creating a black hole within him.

“How are things going up there, fairly well I would hope.”

“Yes, they all are… Are very open, sir. I wanted to begin my files on a few of the agents, if that is alright with you, that is.”

“Be my guest, Florida, that is what I expected from you. I will read the updates tomorrow, over my breakfast.” The man waved as he started for the door, stopping to pat FLorida’s shoulder. “Tomorrow, introduce yourself to Agent Maine while beginning training. Make it… A rather interesting introduction, will you?”

“Yes, sir.” The word _interesting_ meant _terrify them_ , not be a center piece of gossip. It meant break a few bones, possibly beat them unconscious if necessary. It wasn’t the fact that Butch knew the true meaning of the word that put him completely over the edge of fear and unease. No it was the fact that he would not say _no_ to the Director, that he feared the Director more than the possibility of harming the one’s who had shown him such warm welcomes just hours before.

“Oh, and Florida?” Butch turned to look at him, swallowing any visible fear that was rising in his throat. “Please finish arranging the teams appropriately tonight, I’d rather not leave the Counselor to his own devices. Ensure yourself on Alpha Team, understood?”

“Understood, sir.”

He listened to him leave, careful not to relax his tense stance until the sound of the Director’s footsteps had faded into the silent night. Relaxing would take hours after the departure of the aging man, the reminders of consequences all too fresh for the agent as he stood with his back to the vault style door behind him. Florida let out a small sigh, rubbing the back of his neck before walking to the small desk that sat facing the far left wall, taking a sip of his tea before beginning to rummage through the filing cabinet across the room, humming to himself in an attempt to relax before pulling out several files and setting them on his desk, flipping over the first one he had chosen three weeks ago- Agent Carolina.

The file was extensive and detailed, ordered in chronological order and beginning with any personal information at the very top of the page. The first few pages were very short in descriptions, keeping to listing just facts and what career paths each agent had chosen up until Project Freelancer, however Agent Carolina’s file had many redacted areas or aspects that stated he held an inadequate security clearance to view them. At first, the agent panicked, having asked the Director what he had done wrong and apologizing profusely for failure to properly obey orders. The older man had waved him off, saying his daughter’s file was classified and many areas he preferred to keep that way, even from his most trusted agent. This sent Florida to return to the file, noting the Director’s words mentally and proceeding with his instructed job.

Agent Carolina had many skills under her file that many agents still had yet to learn, which interested Florida greatly as he began settling out the teams for the Project. He had already compiled most of the other agents into separate, less elite teams- hence why the Freelancers who were currently asleep above him were in this section of the Mother of Invention. The teams would continue to shift and change as the agents’ performance changed and improved- or declined, depending on the situation. Training sessions would obviously be required, but Florida was certain the team he currently held would perform perfectly fine for the tasks he had designed for the following day.

However he did worry that maybe one agent in particular would underperform.

Agent Washington had been an odd choice in the beginning- frankly speaking, the Director questioned Florida’s choice, demanding to be informed as to the decision his recruit had made. Florida had reviewed all of these files to the best of his skilled abilities, having even memorized each one’s filing number and location in the filing cabinet. Agent Washington’s file was not the exception to this, in fact it had been the one he poured over repeatedly, debating what team he would belong in. If he was placed in the Beta Team, he would outperform the agents there rather easily and need to moved into the Alpha Team almost immediately after training sessions. However, if he were placed in Alpha Team… He would be so young it would be alarming and most likely nerve wracking for the young agent. Still, Florida had confidence in the young agent to progress and bond with the team with ease- as was Washington’s unique skill, as Florida realized time and time again as he read the other’s file.

So the youngest agent in the bunch was added to the Alpha Team.

But that was not Florida’s main issue at the moment, no tonight he wanted to read up on the agents in the Alpha Team in preparation for the training session that would occur around 0500 hours and last for the majority of the day. The main reason for preparing was because of the Director’s order, to make things _interesting_.

When pouring over the files, he found the one who was most likely to be a source of fear or intimidation on the team would be Agent Maine. Agent Maine was a giant of a man, standing at a humongous height of seven foot three inches without his armor on, and was the most rough around the edges type of agent on the team. What the agent held in physical appearance, he lacked in verbalization. The best example would be the interview done with the Counselor, who had tried to entice the agent to talk to him and had epically failed as was the Counselor’s status quo. The Counselor recommended- more like he _demanded_ \- more counseling sessions with Agent Maine, most of which the agent would completely disregard out of what could be spite or just plain boredom, both of which were very possible given the Counselor’s personality.

Agent Maine would be the one agent, in Director’s opinion, to be an outcast or a source of mild discomfort among the team- but Florida believed differently. While physically, Maine could be a bit off putting, it didn’t exactly mean the team would out right fear him based on this alone. The other agents were, as he had seen repeatedly in their files, accepting and generally team playing type of people. They bonded well with others, would go out of their way for teammates and would repeatedly aim to help team members whenever possible. Their coping mechanisms, while ineffective and probably unhealthy, were all similar and they each were able to understand others extensively. So it would be easy for the other agents to bond with Agent Maine once he was brought to a more human status, through sharing a drink together or a shared enemy. A shared enemy would allow the team members to bond better than without one, a job Florida knew would fall to him or the Counselor to enforce. The Director didn’t care if his agents hated him or viewed him as an internal enemy, thus putting Florida in an interesting position as kiss ass extraordinaire.

Tomorrow would dawn and Florida would (probably) live to regret that fact.

**Author's Note:**

> * "Je ne comprends pas ça …" meaning (in French) "I don't understand this..."


End file.
